Shuggie, 8-year-old, was born into the gritty, coal-mining town of Glasgow in the 1980s. A place once pulsating with industry, the city was now a ghosShuggie, 8-year-old, was born into the gritty, coal-mining town of Glasgow in the 1980s. A place once pulsating with industry, the city was now a ghost of its former self, its mines long abandoned, leaving countless families shattered by unemployment.
In a childhood that should have been carefree, he was burdened by his father's relentless infidelity and his mother's spiraling descent into madness. His older siblings, weary of the family's turmoil, had fled, leaving him to navigate a life devoid of joy.
At the tender age of eight, Shuggie found himself caring for his alcoholic mother, Agnes. Once a radiant rose, Agnes had been withered by life's hardships, her husband's betrayal, and a relentless pursuit of a life that was never to be. In her drunken stupors, Agnes would cling to Shuggy, spewing venomous words about men, and often attempted suicide. Yet, in her lucid moments, she would prepare elaborate meals for her son, only for these fleeting moments of clarity to be followed by another descent into madness.
Shuggie never considered abandoning his mother. He would secretly hide a portion of their meager allowance, ensuring she had food and water even when she squandered the rest on alcohol. He would clean up the mess she left behind, becoming a surrogate parent at a time when he should have been a child. He believed that love was the most powerful force, capable of healing even the deepest wounds, and he hoped to be his mother's sanctuary.
To support his family, Shuggie took a job at a local supermarket, a place that employed underage workers. He endured loneliness and ridicule but refused to abandon his education, unlike many of his peers.
In a city left to decay, Shuggie became a beacon of hope, the only one who still believed in love and the possibility of a better future.
What is happiness, truly?
For Agnes, happiness was equated with material possessions: a mansion, a luxury car, and a life of opulence. She had been beautiful, so beautiful that she believed she didn't need to work. However, her beauty had not brought her love, only betrayal. She sought solace in alcohol, escaping the loneliness that gnawed at her. Although she had once managed to quit drinking, she ultimately succumbed to her addiction and her dependence on men. She believed that men would provide for her, never realizing that self-reliance was the foundation of a woman's strength.
Watching Shuggie care for her, Agnes went from gratitude to numbness and, finally, to a desperate madness. She sought refuge in alcohol, ultimately ending her life.
I believe that Agnes, by placing her life in her husband's hands, failed to understand that true self-love and authenticity are the greatest forms of respect for oneself.
But these are merely superficial notions of happiness. True happiness is a feeling, a moment, a smile. It's found in the simple things, in the heart.
Douglas Stuart in telling his own story, also offers a glimpse into the changing landscape of Britain during Thatcher's era and the lives of the working class. His narrative is raw, honest, and deeply personal, a testament to the transformative power of writing.
It took him 10 years to write Shuggie Bain. Rejected 32 times by publishers, the novel eventually found recognition when it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize.
The Booker Prize, dedicated to honoring the best and most enduring fiction, celebrated the authenticity and raw emotion of Stuart’s writing.
This is a story of both cruelty and compassion. Shuggy's unwavering love and hope provide a glimmer of light in a world shrouded in darkness.
The novel is a powerful testament to the human spirit's resilience. It explores the enduring impact of childhood trauma and the possibility of healing.
Does childhood trauma inevitably shape one's adult life?
As I closed the book, I found my answer.
Everyone has a unique perspective on life. Some see it as a colorful adventure, while others perceive it as a series of ups and downs. Regardless of your viewpoint, one thing remains constant: life is a combination of successes and failures. Enduring hardship is essential for growth. It is the journey through adversity that ultimately leads to triumph.
You may find yourself moved to tears, but ultimately, you will emerge stronger and more resilient. That is the power of literature. It inspires us to face our challenges and find hope in the darkest of times.
In the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides tells the true, grand, and tragic story of a 19th-century American polar expedition.
Post-Civil War America, briIn the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides tells the true, grand, and tragic story of a 19th-century American polar expedition.
Post-Civil War America, brimming with youthful vigor, yearned for adventures as grand as the war itself. With the Industrial Revolution in full swing, a generation of American scientists like Bell and Edison emerged, eager to put their inventions to the test in far-flung expeditions.
While Nordic and British naval fleets had traditionally dominated exploration of the New World, the passing of legendary explorers like Cook and Franklin shifted global expectations towards the burgeoning nation of America.
At 28, naval Lieutenant George De Long, captivated by the Arctic after rescuing the stranded Polaris expedition, was consumed by a desire to plant the American flag at the North Pole.
When the USS Jeanette departed from Le Havre, France, Captain DeLong and his crew of 32, comprised of the era's most skilled individuals, set sail with 3 years' worth of supplies, state-of-the-art equipment, and the hopes of a nation. Their destination: the unknown expanse of the Arctic, a frozen kingdom.
While modern technology allows us to easily map the Arctic, a century ago, even the most skilled geographers and navigators could only rely on perilous expeditions to uncover the secrets of the polar regions. DeLong's era was marked by the belief in a navigable polar sea, free of ice. However, the Jeanette became trapped in the ice and was carried away by polar storms, proving these theories wrong.
For 4 years, De Long and his crew endured unimaginable hardships, never giving up hope of returning to home. Even after abandoning the Jeanette and trekking across vast ice sheets, they remained united, their spirits unbroken. Their detailed journals serve as a testament to their courage and perseverance.
I would say this is a meticulously researched work, based on authentic letters and scientific records. It paints a vivid picture of this epic expedition, capturing both its triumphs and tragedies.
Comparing a modern satellite image of the Lena River Delta with the challenges faced by De Long and his crew is mind-boggling. Without accurate maps, reliable navigation, or any means of resupply, they traversed thousands of miles in temperatures as low as -67 degrees Celsius.
Human history advances not only through the inventions of geniuses but also through the sacrifices of brave explorers. Even in the face of insurmountable odds, these pioneers provided invaluable data for future generations.
Today, monuments in Russia's Siberian region commemorate the Jeanette expedition, and various Arctic features are named after De Long, Bennett, and Melville. And this book was named one of Amazon's best books in 2014.
In the heart of Emma De Long, her husband remained the greatest explorer, deserving of everlasting admiration.
As I listen to Amazing Grace, I find myself filled with deep respect for these courageous explorers, the author, Sides who brought their story to life, and the talented translator who ensured its fidelity.
Reading this novel requires both time and concentration. The entire story is told from the perspective of an 18-year-old girl, and her narrative is liReading this novel requires both time and concentration. The entire story is told from the perspective of an 18-year-old girl, and her narrative is like a stream of consciousness, easily drawing you into her inner world. Her still-forming personality is pieced together from fragments of books, overheard adult conversations, and children's legends, as she tenaciously seeks her own, hard-won understanding.
She lives in a very closed and conservative community in Northern Ireland in the 1990s. This community is oppressive in terms of politics and religion, and people are closely connected to each other, reminding me of tribalism.
I believe this community exhibits tribalism because it meets several key characteristics:
1. There is a strict hierarchy within the tribe; 2. Individuals must completely obey the leader, and there is a unified consciousness within the tribe, not allowing for dissent; 3. If the tribe's consciousness represents the values of a particular identity, it will have a strong sense of negation and opposition towards other tribes.
Throughout the novel, no personal names are ever mentioned. Even when referring to places, the characters in the book deliberately use terms like "here" and "there," as if speaking the names would be a sin.
In the community depicted in the book, everyone is like a madman, fond of imagining and spreading rumors, and the means of dealing with dissenters are extreme, such as holding a gun to their head.
It is a world full of tension, claustrophobia, threats, paranoia, and violence. Individuals live under surveillance, and this world makes them feel threatened and restricted. You are not allowed to be different, you cannot have your own personality.
This totalitarian tribe is also a male-dominated society that emphasizes "I am a man and you are a woman." Women are not allowed to disobey, disagree with male authority, or resist male dominance. In this context, the "quasi-boyfriend" is not a supporter of male dominance. Although Burns uses a Beckett-esque absurdity to tell the story, the harm done to women is the same as today. There is the "blaming the victim" mentality, and women who have been harmed experience secondary harm such as "slut-shaming." Women are even denied the right to use the technical term "sexual violence," and the deprivation of rights is reflected in the deprivation of language.
Beyond sexual harassment and sexual assault, there's another invisible weapon: verbal abuse. It may seem intangible, but it inflicts a more lasting and deeper wound than physical harm. The saying of: If no one has physically assaulted you, if no one has openly insulted you with crude words, if no one has shown a mocking expression, then nothing has happened, and how can you be attacked by nothing? is so wrong. Verbal and mental abuse can be just as harmful as physical violence.
Although these acts of violence are set in Northern Ireland, they feel familiar. Clearly, they have universal truth.
It is precisely because of this thought-provoking work that Burns became the first Northern Irish writer to win the Booker Prize. Moreover, the book's casual tone and stream-of-consciousness writing style create an immersive reading experience.
Setting aside the educational significance this work has for women, the mere fact that it introduces the concept of "sexual" language as a form of harm is a novel perspective. Every women has likely experienced this kind of verbal abuse to some extent. Even the dress you wear can become a "dagger" used by others to attack and hurt you. This is why we need to call on society to stop "pointing fingers" at others.
In short, this novel is truly suitable for every growing girls. I believe it can be a powerful tool to educate girls to fearlessly face rumors and reject all forms of verbal abuse during their growth.
I told my wife that this is a much better book for women's empowerment than her favourite - Colleen Hoover's 'It Ends With Us.
Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us is a book my wife absolutely loves. I watched the movie with her a while ago and didn't enjoy it. My wife insisted I Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us is a book my wife absolutely loves. I watched the movie with her a while ago and didn't enjoy it. My wife insisted I read the book. Sorry to say, I liked it even less.
The book explores why women who experience domestic violence find it so difficult to leave. The premise is good, and the reasons make sense. I completely understand why these women might stay with a man who hurts them, whether it's because they still love him, have hope for the relationship, or fear the unknown of leaving.
I get it.
But I haven't read something so physically repulsive in a long time.
The main character, Lily, is a complete weakling, both mentally and physically. The most powerful weapon of the weak is words. In this novel, verbal abuse is very common. I want to ask, doesn't emotional abuse count as abuse? Doesn't verbal abuse count as abuse too? Oh, is it because the protagonist is a woman?
Here are a few reasons why I dislike Lily:
Firstly, the male lead, Ryle, physically abused Lily 3 times, and I only empathized with her on the last occasion.
The first time, Ryle and Lily were drunk Ryle went to grab a plate, only to hurt his hands. While Ryle was in pain, Lily didn't react but laughed. Then, she jokingly leaned in to look at Ryle's hand. Ryle pushed her, sending her to the ground. First of all, Ryle didn't do it on purpose. Secondly, he was in physical pain and acted impulsively. When Lily fell to the ground, she was completely dumbfounded and kept crying, asking why Ryle would push her and caused pain to her head. She didn't care at all that Ryle had a major surgery the next day and that his hands were crucial to his future career. So, Lily's attitude was basically, As long as you love me, that's all that matters. I don't care about your personal development or anything else. In the end, it was Ryle who repeatedly apologized before Lily forgave him.
The second time, Ryle found Lily's ex-boyfriend's phone number hidden behind her phone and got angry. The reason was that after the first incident when Lily was injured, her ex-boyfriend saw her and got into a fight with Ryle, so Ryle was very jealous. He smashed Lily's phone and stormed out. Lily ran after him, but during the struggle, she was pushed down the stairs. This time, I kind of understood, but wasn’t it still unintentional? This doesn't align with my understanding of domestic violence. Shouldn't domestic violence be when someone intentionally wants to hurt you to vent their anger? Ryle didn't want to hurt her or 'punish' her by pushing her. But the harm was done. This time, Lily cried even harder, saying she was even more scared, and repeatedly compared Ryle to her abusive father. Ryle continued to apologize and coax her, but he didn't get Lily's sincere forgiveness. Lily kept accusing and suspecting that Ryle would continue to hurt her.
The third time: Ryle bought Lily a house. After moving in, Ryle found Lily's diary and discovered that the fridge magnet she always carried was a gift from her first love, who even named his restaurant after her. Additionally, Lily has a tattoo on her neck that was also for her first love. Coincidentally, Ryle used to really like that tattoo, and that spot had become a point of intimacy for them. When Ryle waited for Lily to come home, he asked her where the fridge magnet came from. Lily lied and said she bought it a long time ago. Then Ryle, in a fit of anger, bit Lily's neck, making her bleed, and dragged her to the bed to forcefully engage in intimacy, but he eventually stopped. That night, Lily was extremely disappointed in Ryle and secretly called her first love to come pick her up and leave.
In these 3 incidents, which one wasn't caused by Lily's lack of transparency in their relationship resulting in misunderstandings? They never had a proper conversation about their past before getting married, so after the second incident, shouldn't they have been open and talked about their histories? Honestly, I think Ryle's jealousy and anger are normal reactions. What is not acceptable is the intentional harm he caused in the last incident, which was indeed wrong. However, I really don't believe that the mishaps in the first 2 instances can be categorized as domestic violence.
Secondly, Lily is just someone who can only whine and complain. In both instances, she was pushed down and got hurt. She's really quite fragile. What kind of person suffers a concussion after being pushed down? Furthermore, she is a woman, not a disabled person or a child. When you are harmed, I would much rather see her fight back than get hurt and then whimper and cry about how the man treated her poorly. I want her to get up after being pushed and slap him across the face, then look him in the eyes and tell him that if he touches her again, she will fight back.
I understand that women naturally have less muscle strength than men, but I want to see resistance; I want to see her speak up for herself in the moment. It's frustrating to see her getting hurt, and then later, when Ryle has regained his composure and is continuously apologizing, they exchange power and Lily uses sarcasm and emotional abuse against Ryle. It should be a balanced reaction in the heat of the moment, rather than her waiting until he has calmed down to retaliate after being harmed.
Thirdly, Lily is quite adept at playing victim tactics herself. She clings to her feelings for her first love. Just ask, who can tell their spouse after getting married: ”I will always love my first love”? She dares to do it, and she does so very naturally. In a confrontation with Ryle later on, she tells him she’ll always loved her first love, Ryle can't stop her, and Ryle can't hurt her for it. Even if Ryle catch her with him in bed today, Ryle can't lay a finger on her. Wow, that’s a b*tch for saying such piercing words. I feel like Lily is not the brave female figure that Colleen Hoover tries to portray; she is nowhere near bravery. She gives me the impression of an assassin - stabbing when you least expect it. But when you confront her face-to-face, she doesn't dare to say a word. I would have admired her even more if she had slapped back once when she was harmed.
Unfortunately, she didn't. It's fortunate that she lives in the U.S., as if she were here in my country, she probably wouldn’t understand our definition of "justifiable defense." Immediate retaliation is what is called justifiable defense, while going back later to strike is considered intentional harm.
In short, after finishing this book, I felt utterly speechless. I thought I would see a story about equality or female empowerment, but instead, I saw a female assassin standing on a moral high ground, incessantly saying, "You can't hurt me, you can't touch me, and I can spit on you from behind. But as long as you touch me, you must be submissive to me for the rest of your life, It's not because I have power, but because I stand on moral high ground and because I am a woman, I am weak, and I am justified.”
Really?
Finally, I want to talk about some plot points that have nothing to do with the main storyline but really disgusted me:
1. According to the description, Ryle is a doctor, wealthy, handsome, and has no shortage of sexual partners. Yet, he falls in love with Lily after just a twenty-minute conversation on a rooftop and even kneels down to beg her for a one-night stand. Does Colleen Hoover look down on doctors or handsome guys? And initially, Ryle said he wasn't interested in a stable relationship. But after meeting Lily, he immediately starts a relationship, gets married after 6 months, and then wants a child right away. Is Lily a witch or something? How can she be so captivating?
2. According to the description, Lily has no friends. She had some in college, but for some reason, she doesn't have many friends after she starts working. As a result, whenever she needs someone, she always turns to her ex-boyfriend. If Lily is as beautiful as Ryle describes, why doesn't she have a boyfriend or even a close friend?
3. Besides Ryle and Lily, all the other characters are just tools to support Lily. Ryle's sister is incredibly wealthy but loves Lily and is her best friend. When she finds out that her brother has a conflict with Lily, her first reaction is to tell Lily to leave him. No one who has lived with their siblings for over a decade would change their stance so quickly. Ryle's parents are devout Christians. Even before meeting Lily, they expressed a special fondness for her. When they met for the first time, Lily was nervous and joked to Ryle, 'Your parents won't think I'm a godless whore for living with you before we're married, will they?' And his parents overheard and casually said, 'You're not a whore; you're the best girl I've ever met.' Can you feel the disgust I felt when I read that part? I’m sorry but Colleen Hoover clearly doesn't understand the concept of cultural differences and respect. She thinks she can gloss over anything with American-style casualness and cheerfulness, huh?
4. Ryle often appears in front of Lily wearing a surgical gown. Lily finds it very sexy. I don't know which hospital would allow doctors to wear surgical gowns outside of the operating room. And at the end, Ryle goes to work wearing a surgical gown. So, surgical gowns are like uniforms now! I get it!
5. Everything comes too easily for Lily. It's just a wish-fulfillment fantasy, without any real-world relevance. She wants to open a flower shop, and poof, it's open. Her flower shop is a departure from traditional femininity, using more black to express boldness and rebellion. I don't know why her flower shop is so successful, but it just is. Ryle is rich and buys her a house whenever she wants. He has his dream job, but Lily says no, and he quits. Her high school sweetheart joins the military after graduation, opens a restaurant after his service, and it's incredibly successful. At the end, her ex-boyfriend's restaurant has branches. Ryle's sister, who is also Lily's best friend, is wealthy but loves to work for Lily. When Lily is pregnant, her sister gives her a lot of unworn designer maternity clothes. When Lily is feeling down, her sister helps her manage the shop so she doesn't have to worry. Basically, everyone who likes Lily is rich, and the female protagonist never lacks money.
Like, are you insulting my intelligence?
No, I’m lost. I don’t get it at all. I’m sorry. I think I need help to understand this whole thing here.
The Bell Jar is about an American Dream gone wrong. Esther, a young woman from Boston, comes to New York and feels the immense pressure of the city's The Bell Jar is about an American Dream gone wrong. Esther, a young woman from Boston, comes to New York and feels the immense pressure of the city's upper-class intellectual circles. The lavish lifestyle and superficiality are evident from the 3rd chapter, "Ladies' Day," with its descriptions of extravagant food. In my opinion, this is actually a work of a small-town writer who fears the shattering of her dreams, afraid of being left behind in the fast-paced world of elite schools, high society, publishing, and handsome men.
After publishing this book, Plath committed suicide. So, it's more like a suicide note, a burden released by a mentally ill person. It tells the story of how women in the upper-class intellectual circles of post-war America felt oppressed. After her death, not only was the book published, but it also achieved unprecedented success, and countless generations of women have read it.
But for me, as human beings, we all have to bear the weight of reality, no matter what. It's a responsibility, and no matter how difficult it is, we must endure it.
This is the reason why I feel a certain degree of disgust and irony towards the latter half of the novel, when nearly half of it is devoted to describing how Esther destroys herself after experiencing betrayal in love, friendship, and her dreams.
Plath’s writing was OK, but this is definitely not a good novel. The story is too childish, the central theme is childish, the narrative is childish, and Plath herself, as the author of the book, is childish. Strangely enough, many people loved it, look at the amount of 4 & 5-star reviews.
I’m sorry but I don’t get it.
Esther always presents herself as a Plath-esque American sweetheart, yet despite being a virgin, she is perceived as promiscuous due to her appearance. And the seemingly honest and hardworking Yale medical student, with over 30 sexual experiences, is seen as a perfect marriage candidate. OK, he was tempted and fell, but that doesn't really count as a fall. It was just a lapse, the fault of that flirtatious women, not his own problem. But this is clearly the problem — both for Plath and Esther.
How to solve this problem has always puzzled them, and until the end of the novel they are still trying to overcome the extreme impact of this fact. So, during a break from the asylum, she randomly found a man she decided not to see again and lost her virginity. She tries to make her virginity as unimportant as a man's virginity. But in fact, she values her virginity too much, and cannot understand that men go crazy thinking about getting it. Whether it is a male student at Yale or a young associate professor of mathematics, this kind of thinking does not require wisdom at all. As long as straight men have sexual ability, they just, want it.
That's the problem with Ploth and Esther. Even after having sex, she still didn't find the answer. The process of losing her virginity and bleeding was the process of endless doubts. This question will obviously not be answered by women losing their virginity.
One thing that shocked me is how poorly female friendships are depicted in this novel. Do women in real life often see another women as competition, or are all those so-called 'BFFs' fake?
Another thing is: do intelligent women, like female writers, not want to get married and have children? They think being a good wife and mother is undignified?
Personally, it's a pity, thou. Both Plath and Esther were initially portrayed as such wonderful figures: independent, strong-willed, intelligent, happy, and lively. It's just puzzling why they would choose such a tragic ending.
My interpretation is that they were too sensitive, perfectionist and craved love and freedom too much, feeling as if they were living under a bell jar, unable to breathe.
I still believe that one's destiny is shaped by thought and action, not by despair or a negative outlook.
The Pole is told from the perspective of Beatriz, a well-to-do, educated Spanish woman in her late 40s. She enjoys a seemingly perfect life, complete The Pole is told from the perspective of Beatriz, a well-to-do, educated Spanish woman in her late 40s. She enjoys a seemingly perfect life, complete with a stable marriage, a passion for music, and a penchant for philanthropy. While she once believed in the power of love, she has grown more pragmatic with age, learning to look at things realistically.
A chance encounter with a 70-year-old Polish pianist, Wittold Walccyzkiecz, disrupts her tranquil life. Renowned for his restrained and rational interpretations of Chopin, the pianist is the antithesis of Beatriz's more emotional approach to music. Their initial interactions are hindered by a language barrier. For Beatriz, this is merely a brief interlude in her otherwise peaceful existence. However, when the pianist expresses his love for her in an email, she is more perplexed than moved.
Coetzee portrays Beatriz as exceptionally clear-headed and emotionally distant. She embodies the spirit of our times: distrustful of unmotivated love and accustomed to controlling her emotions. When confronted with an unexpected desire, she politely declines and even discusses it nonchalantly with her husband. She seems capable of dismissing love at will, yet she can't help but wonder: ”When someone says they love me, what do they really want from me?"
Beatriz meticulously plans a vacation, inviting the pianist to her husband's childhood villa. She even manages to maintain control over their intimate moments, which Coetzee describes with clinical precision, as if they were a scientific experiment. Beatriz appears to be observing herself, analyzing how this deviation from her usual life affects her and those around her.
Yet, nothing changes. She dismisses the pianist, ignores his letters, and continues with her life. It's only after his death, when his daughter contacts her about a box he left for her, that I realize Beatriz's narrative is unreliable. She visits Poland, spends the night in his home, and even hires a translator to decipher his final poem. Her curiosity seems more complex than she lets on.
Those who have never experienced all-consuming love can never truly understand it. Beatriz's encounter with the pianist's one-sided love is like visiting a historical site: a place where people once built their lives, their loves, their beliefs. And yet, she remains detached, as if observing a distant civilization.
I completely understand Beatriz. For years, I've avoided romantic literature because I no longer seeking for it. Even the pianist's declaration, "I want to spend my whole life with you. A week? A day? Even a minute. A minute would be enough. I will engrave you in my memory," fails to move me. It's as if I’ve become immune to such sentiments.
I no longer believe in the idea of being engraved in someone's memory. For me, forgetting is the only antidote. Phrases like "everything passes," "time heals all wounds," "love is an illusion," and "only desires and needs are eternal" have become daily mantras.
Coetzee is known for his use of symbolism. In this novel, Dante, Chopin, and Poland are all significant symbols. However, these symbols seem less important than the novel's opening line: At first, it was the woman who caused him trouble, and then, very soon, it was the man."
Who is this "he"? Perhaps it's Coetzee himself, or perhaps it's some of us, the readers. Initially, we are troubled by the cold rationality of characters like Beatriz. But when we encounter the passionate, irrational love of the pianist, we become fearful of being consumed by such emotions.
In the end, I choose rationality over passion. I tread carefully around the ruins of romanticism, leaving behind a token of remembrance.
The novel explores themes of love, loss, aging, and the clash between reason and emotion. Beatriz serves as a representative of modern society, where emotional detachment and pragmatism often prevail over passion and idealism. The Polish pianist, on the other hand, embodies a more romantic, idealistic view of love.
Coetzee uses the contrast between these two characters to examine the complexities of human relationships and the impact of societal changes on our understanding of love. The novel also raises questions about the nature of identity, memory, and the meaning of life. It was just an OK read for me.
It's often been said, half-jokingly, that the greatest enigma isn't whether aliens exist, but the intricate dynamics of relationships between East AsiIt's often been said, half-jokingly, that the greatest enigma isn't whether aliens exist, but the intricate dynamics of relationships between East Asian mothers and daughters.
Why such a conclusion? Perhaps it's best to start by examining our attitudes towards our mothers. (By the way I’m South East Asian to be precise). When we interact with our mothers, do we often feel an underlying tension, as if they might inadvertently 'stab us in the back'? Of course, there's also an abundance of gratitude, guilt, youthful resentment, and the inevitable distance that grows with age.
When we think of our mothers, a complex mix of emotions arises. Much like the mother-daughter pair in Cold Enough to Snow, who seem both unfamiliar and yearning for connection, a journey filled with anticipation and careful planning can lead to unexpected twists and turns.
Reading this book leaves one feeling a sense of overwhelming powerlessness. The daughter, eager for change and connection, tiptoes around her mother, while the mother maintains a cautious distance. I wonders: why has such a seemingly intimate relationship become so fractured? As the journey progresses, the answer becomes increasingly clear.
The novel's portrayal of the camera is particularly revealing. From purchasing a new Nikon before the trip, to recalling stories behind childhood photos, to taking pictures of her mother during the journey, the camera takes on different meanings in various contexts.
The mother's awareness of the growing distance between her and her daughter is evident in her subtle actions: "standing with her feet together, her back straight, her hands clasped". These gestures, along with her question, "Is this okay? Or should we move closer to that tree?", perfectly capture her restraint, her desire for closeness, and her willingness to comply.
Perhaps the most poignant moment occurs when the daughter, eager to explore a museum with her mother, finds her waiting patiently at the entrance. The daughter's desire to connect is abruptly halted. In the subsequent periods of separation, the phrase "cold enough to snow" takes on a literal and figurative meaning. It's not just about the city of Tokyo, but about the mother's deep love for her child, a love that has been frozen over.
Ultimately, perhaps it doesn't matter if we fully understand everything. The novel employs a chillingly minimalist writing style, filled with stream-of-consciousness and layers of meaning that invite deep contemplation.
When Roland entered the latter half of his life, the book presented this poignant and concise line: ”How easy it was to drift through an unchosen lifeWhen Roland entered the latter half of his life, the book presented this poignant and concise line: ”How easy it was to drift through an unchosen life, in a succession of reactions to events.”
This novel, in a quasi-autobiographical style, portrays the life of a British man born after World War II. The plot is rich, encompassing external environmental changes, encounters and conflicts between people, and the inner turmoil, sadness, self-reflection, and liberation of the human heart. The book's structure and plotline are exceptionally complete, with all foreshadowing and suspended plot points carefully addressed. The benefit of the quasi-autobiographical form is that, due to its fictionality, it avoids the first-person narrator's tendency towards excessive self-indulgence or self-justification, providing a more objective subjective perspective.
Roland’s life story unfolds against the backdrop of a rapidly changing era. His experiences, compared to these monumental shifts, seem insignificant. He is, after all, just one face in the crowd. Yet, it is these ordinary occurrences – mismatched parents, a dreary boarding school (albeit with a slightly more complex situation), failed relationships and marriages, mundane jobs, average children, and so on – that McEwan imbues with remarkable detail and emotional depth. The constant internal dialogue of self-doubt, resignation, and going with the flow presents a sense of authenticity that makes me feel as though I've lived Roland's life alongside him, experiencing his frustrations, disappointments, and joys, and witnessing life's final twilight.
McEwan also captures the evolution of Roland's monologue, from the anxious frenzy of youth to the profound tranquility of old age, as he navigates from the Cuban Missile Crisis to the current pandemic. At the same time, he makes us realize how easily personal history can be forgotten or overlooked. We lament the insignificance of the individual in the grand scheme of things and the fleeting nature of life, yet we are forced to bid farewell to everything, including our own existence.
The female characters in the novel are memorable and are portrayed mostly through a lens of understanding, sympathy, and acceptance. Five women: his ex-wife Alissa, mother-in-law Jane, mother Rosalind, best friend Daphne, and the pivotal Miriam; each representing five completely different female lives: the one who abandoned her family for self-achievement, the one who sacrificed her life's pursuits for the family but felt bitter, the repressed and silent devotee, the one who balanced everything and seemed perfect, and the wild lover/sinner. Their individual stories are scattered throughout the book, and McEwan provides enough detail and outline for readers to form their own interpretations. Each woman could easily be the subject of another novel. What's remarkable is that the empathetic understanding of these women comes from Roland's perspective, even though many of them were often on the opposite side of his interests (except for Daphne). This grants him an unspoken quality of openness and tolerance. Despite his lack of significant achievements or charisma, the overall impression of Roland after reading the book is positive.
The most intense emotional connection in the entire book is arguably Roland and Daphne's trip to the Lake District. Their farewell-like companionship and reminiscences make one hesitate to call McEwan a "horror" writer, as some domestic media have labeled him. This contrast is a testament to McEwan's talent.
Alissa, who successfully left home and eventually became a German literary icon. Although Roland resents her, he consistently acknowledges the excellence of her writing. The novel devotes considerable space to describing Alissa's novels through Roland's eyes. I imagine that if McEwan were to write a review of a novel he admires, these passages would serve as a model – using sophisticated adjectives, offering direct and specific praise, and accurately capturing the feel and style of the work without direct quotes.
As an ordinary reader, all I can say about the novels I appreciate is: I must read more of McEwan's work.
The Reading List revolves around two characters and a reading list. The protagonist is a young girl named Aleisha, and the other is an old man named MThe Reading List revolves around two characters and a reading list. The protagonist is a young girl named Aleisha, and the other is an old man named Mukesh. A reading list and a library connect the two, and they read through the books on the list together, discussing their reading experiences and sharing life's trivial matters. Along with them, the lives of their relatives and friends unfold.
The two, who previously disliked reading, began to read under a strange circumstance. Their reading scenes are exceptionally vivid, a construction of the spiritual world. When reading Rebecca,, Mukesh immersed himself in it, often feeling that Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper in the story, was beside him, watching him, reminding him not to forget his deceased wife. This terrified him, but he was also attracted to the world in the book. The lonely man hoped to find a place to belong, a temporary escape from the silent home after his wife's death.
Aleisha’s reading was the same. Turning the pages of a book would take her to another world, allowing her to temporarily escape her suffocating life. In reality, she had a mentally ill mother to take care of. In her own words, her mother and brother wanted her to be a child, but when her mother needed care, she couldn't even be a teenager; she could only be a mature and responsible adult, even though she was just a little girl.
While reading this book, I felt the same as the scenes described in the book. I also entered the world of the book. The characters in the book were three-dimensional and vivid, and the scenes were 360-degree surround. In the quiet library, sunlight poured in from the window, illuminating the fine dust particles in the air. A girl squinted her eyes against the sunlight, her expression changing with the content of the book. Such scenes replayed in my mind like a movie.
Despite the initial warmth and comfort I felt while reading, Aiden’s death cast a pall of sadness over the entire book. Aiden was Aleisha’s brother. After their parents' divorce, he had always taken on the role of father to take care of his mother and sister. At a very young age, he took on the responsibility of the entire family. A tiring job, a mother whose condition showed no signs of improvement for years, and dreams that had no time or energy to realize - under heavy pressure, Aidan chose to leave.
When I read to this point, I even wondered if I had read too fast and missed some links. How could Aiden, such a warm and responsible person who loved his mother and sister so much, silently leave? I went back and looked only at the parts about Aiden. Sarah Nisha didn't write much about him. Occasionally, there were clues, like him saying he had a headache and went to the pharmacy to buy medicine. I think he probably suffered from depression, so even though he had a family he deeply loved in reality, under the torment of life pressure and mental illness, he still couldn't hold on.
In the end, the mystery was solved. It was Mukesh's wife, who wrote the reading list. She hoped that after her death, her husband could live well and hoped that reading these books would bring him light and joy.
Sarah Nisha, the author of this novel, said that this book was inspired by her connection with her grandfather through books. With extraordinary writing skills, she vividly presents the characters and their inner worlds, making me feel as if I know them personally.
The writing style is warm and inviting.
Through the characters in the book, I can also clearly see the underlying symptoms of the times - the rapid development of urbanization has led to alienation, mobility, and busyness. The popularity of video media has made reading a luxurious indulgence. The deserted community library symbolizes the subtle changes in people's lifestyles.
However, this constantly drifting list injects spiritual strength into Mukesh and Aleisha. They constantly draw courage, faith, perseverance, and love from the reading list. As the narrator describes Alesha's thoughts: She learned from Atticus Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird" how to fight for her beliefs; from Pi in "Life of Pi" how to survive under a tiger's nose; from Amir in "The Kite Runner" that it's never too late to do the right thing...
When comforting and encouraging Alesha, Mukesh also said: Reading is not always an escape; sometimes books teach us something. Books show us the world, not hide it.
Books have the power to heal.
Reading List in the book: The Time Traveller’s Wife, To Kill a Mockingbird, Rebecca, The Kite Runner, Life of Pi, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, Beloved, A Suitable Boy. (I’ve read them all except A Suitable Boy).
Overall, this book is nothing more than erotic fiction masquerading as a suspense novel.
Lowen is a poor, introverted, sensitive writer with sleepwalkiOverall, this book is nothing more than erotic fiction masquerading as a suspense novel.
Lowen is a poor, introverted, sensitive writer with sleepwalking tendencies. Jeremy is a well-dressed, grief-stricken married man who's also a good father. After losing his twin daughters, his wife is severely injured in a car accident, leaving him to raise their son alone. Lowen is hired to organize his wife, Verity’s study and continue her bestselling series. During this time, she discovers the wife's autobiography and a shocking secret.
Honestly, I was startled by the opening line and had some expectations. However, as the story unfolded, I realized that the beginning had nothing to do with the rest of the plot (it was just an unconvincing setup for the illicit affair between the 2). The characters were inconsistent, the plotlines were loose, and the constant descriptions of sex were increasingly uninteresting. The so-called love between Jeremy and Lowen was simply absurd.
Lowen is a complete b*tch; her love was born out of infatuation. She fell in love with Jeremy and fantasised about possessing him. If I had thought she was even slightly normal before, the ending made me want to slap her. Jeremy is a womanizer with no redeeming qualities other than his prowess in bed. Under the guise of being a good husband and father, he engages in sordid betrayals.
I was going to give it 1 stars out of spite, but Verity saved the book from a lower rating. I suddenly felt sorry for her, especially when I read the line, It's been tough.. knowing you believed my words more than you believed my actions over the course of our marriage..
The person you should trust the most is actually the least willing to listen to your explanation. The person you think understands you best actually understands you least. The person you think loves you the most can actually fall in love with others so easily. It truly reflects the saying, Husbands and wives are the closest and yet the most distant of relationships.
Poor Crew. Both his father and stepmother claim to love and protect him, but they engage in the most shameless and harmful behaviors. The only character I liked was the quiet, perceptive caregiver who seemed to have seen through everything. It's unfortunate that she didn't have a more prominent role in the story. She should have been the detective who solved the case, adopted Crew, and thrown both the Jeremy and Lowen into a lake! Lol.
The protagonist of this novel belongs to the generation that grew up under Chile's Pinochet dictatorship. They learned and grew during that tumultuousThe protagonist of this novel belongs to the generation that grew up under Chile's Pinochet dictatorship. They learned and grew during that tumultuous period, with parents who were either complicit in or victims of the authoritarian regime. The novel is divided into four sections, shifting between the characters and the author, the past and the present, fiction and reality.
Regardless of whether parents were overindulgent or neglectful, they ultimately couldn't protect their children. And whether children stayed or left, they couldn't stay with their parents forever. Silence was common, a legacy of the dictatorship. The generational gap widened further with this additional silence.
Considered one of the most important Chilean writers after Bolaño, Alejandro Zambra (born in 1975) represents a new generation. His writing, while not as polished as Bolaño's, is marked by a restrained passion. Perhaps this restraint is due to the lack of openness in his generation.
In this novel, the "ways home" are numerous. These aren't literal paths but rather the means by which one seeks to return home, paths that lead nowhere, like wandering forever at the foot of Kafka's castle. Only in this case, the castle is an invisible one, constructed by ordinary families and parents influenced by a generation of dictatorship.
Zambra offers several ways of returning home in the novel: through memories, by returning like a wanderer, or by making love to one's girlfriend in one's parents' home. However, he reveals the dubious nature of the homecoming journey from the very beginning: "When I was six or seven, I got lost from my parents and found my way home alone. My mother said, ‘You took a wrong turn.’ But I felt it was my parents who had gotten lost, thinking, ‘It’s you who took a different path.’” The rift cannot be bridged by the journey home.
Even the parents' journey home is questionable. They grew up amid atrocities, watching good people turn bad, unable to distinguish between right and wrong. Their childhood belonged to the organization; answers were memorized, and love for the family was questioned. I'm still trying to understand if I'm going through the same separation as my parents, but in a different way. We need to see clearly again, we need to record.
The 1973 Chilean coup, supported by the US, has been overshadowed by the 911 attacks.
As a young writer of a new generation, this book deserves at least 4 stars. Zambra’s understated narrative, longing to return home but unable to, evokes a similar feeling to books like "The Angel at the Window" and the French version of "Wonder Years."
Using the perspective of a generation that wasn't even alive at the time, this novel narrates the events and people of that era with a different but similar value system. This kind of story is more to my taste.
Because our parents never showed us their true selves, and we never really observed our parents' faces.
I would rather live in that era, stay in the past, and indulge in nostalgia.
There are some books that, at first glance, seem incredibly grand and impressive. They received numerous awards, have eye-catching titles, and have moThere are some books that, at first glance, seem incredibly grand and impressive. They received numerous awards, have eye-catching titles, and have moved countless readers in many countries. They've been translated into dozens of languages and have topped bestseller lists for extended periods. In reality, it's all just a marketing ploy - and this book is a prime example.
It's incredibly difficult to read.
It's essentially a slow-paced novel. The entire book drags on, feeling quite verbose, and many of the plot points are incredibly boring. After reading each section, I felt a sense of weariness and boredom, so I would switch to another book. After a while, I would remember this one and pick it up again, repeating this cycle until I finally finished it, which took me weeks to finish.
Another issue is the overly rigid and stereotypical characters: the anti-war sentiments of the Germans, the bravery and justice of the British, the poverty and hardship of the Russians, and the "world savior" image of the Americans. Everything seems so neatly categorized, feeling overly artificial and distasteful. Such a rigid and formulaic approach lacks innovation.
People always had the impression that Western writers portray historical figures in a stereotypical manner: nobles are ignorant, incompetent, and conservative; the working class is hardworking, brave, and just; peasants are honest and hardworking; and Americans are free, romantic, and peace-loving. This novel reinforces these stereotypes. Almost everyone in the story is righteous and anti-war, but paradoxically, war still happens. The author simply attributes it to the stupidity of the politicians - this is too unrealistic and filled with fantasy.
The truth is, Germany's initiation of war and America's entry into the war were not, as Follet suggests, acts of desperation or impulsiveness, but rather premeditated political actions. The secret maneuvering of international politics is not as pure and simple as imagined. The kings and politicians of those countries wouldn't start a war over the casualties of one or two soldiers. It's wrong to treat history as a fantasy novel.
Follett's portrayal of international politics is too naive. While his depiction of the details of war is fairly realistic, his portrayal of the power struggles between nations is far removed from reality. I cannot agree with his construction of the abilities and actions of the leaders during World War I based on his limited imagination.
Lastly, I find Follett's writing to be pandering. The book is filled with anti-war and feminist sentiments, which is probably considered "politically correct" in the West. And from the portrayal of the countries and characters in the book, he seems to have a desire to beautify them, aiming to appeal to readers in more countries and increase sales. This deviates from the essence of storytelling. Almost everyone in the book is portrayed as good: kind British people, intelligent Germans, brave Russians, and righteous Americans. So why war? Why?
Although his portrayal of characters' actions and psychology is fairly accurate, and he pays attention to historical details (initially, it felt like watching a historical epic drama, which was exciting), I still doubts about his ability to write a book on such a grand scale with so many major biases.
So, although Fall of Giants gave me a little surprise and shock at the beginning, the anticlimactic structure ultimately left me unsatisfied.
Perhaps I should have separated history from fiction to appreciate this "masterpiece"?
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